


Cleansing Waters

by halcyondreams



Category: League of Legends
Genre: M/M, Other, emotional anguish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-26
Updated: 2014-04-26
Packaged: 2018-01-20 20:41:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1524869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halcyondreams/pseuds/halcyondreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>birth by blood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cleansing Waters

A grunt. The sound of exertion, echoing through the dank and musty tunnels beneath the city, as if it was of one trying to lift up more than twice their weight. Along with faint dripping sounds, echoing through the cavernous pathways.

The boy was in an unusual predicament. His best friend’s body was in his arms, his throat slit open jaggedly, that face of shock permanently etched into his face. It was something the boy couldn’t look at – he just dragged the body behind him, grunting as he pulled it through the disgusting basins of the city.

Still that blade warmed his pocket. The blade was still damp, and, had he been wearing something a bit of a lighter color than what he already had on, he would surely have to get rid of it. But these particular pants were dark enough to take the bloodstain, as it had so many others before. This time it was different – this time, it was someone else’s.

He took a moment, dropping the body to the ground completely. He leaned against the wall of the tunnel, trying to let his shaky breath relax. He needed to calm down, or else things would take a turn for the worse. Breathe in, breathe out. The question was, was it that he was tired from lugging the body – or was he quietly freaking out because he just  _murdered his best friend?_  It was impossible to tell.

“ _You killed me…_ ”

That voice. The boy jolted up from the side of the tunnel, knife in hand faster than one could blink. His ragged breath silenced for a moment, listening to see if the voice would come again.

“ _How could you…?_ ”

No.

It couldn’t be.

He looked down at the body he was carrying with him – to see it shifting on the ground, squirming, shifting so that shocked face, still etched on, was looking straight at the boy.

“N-no…you’re dead,” the boy murmured beneath his breath, gripping his knife with white knuckles, bringing it up to his sternum, his body as tense as a coil. 

“ _You murdered me…_ ”

The boy shifted forward, slowly, steadily – but his best friend’s body wasn’t moving any more, just sitting there, murmuring its accusations at the boy.

“ _You killed me…_ ”

“ _You murdered me…_ ”

“ _How could you…?_ ”

“Stop…” the boy uttered, shifting forward. It took a lot of strength to slit his throat the first time, he didn’t know if he had it in him for a second time.

He didn’t need to have the strength. Before he knew what was happening, a blade slid through his best friend’s chest, protruding through the other side. He looked up at the assailant – and he looked familiar.

It was him.

It wasn’t about anything physically, but he could feel it anyway; perhaps it was the way he held himself – it was just reminiscent of himself.

And as Talon looked down at his younger self, he had a similar reaction – except he knew this scene, and that was how he was able to recognize it. He remembered lugging the body – he remembered imagining the body talking to him, his guilty subconscious yearning for absolution.

He couldn’t let it happen again. He had a decision this time.

He picked up the body, slinging it over his shoulder with ease. “Go home,” he murmured, while the boy looked up at him in a bit of surprise. “Did you not hear me? Get the hell out of here. I’ve got it from here.”

The boy looked at him, a small glint of – something in his eye, Talon couldn’t tell what it was. But he ran off the way he came, knife still in hand. He almost called back to tell him to drop the knife – but he knew himself, he’d drop it somewhere along the way, or keep it safe in a nice little hiding spot somewhere in the makeshift room. It wasn’t a problem.

But the body on his shoulder was another story. He had a hiding spot, sure; it was a spot that he discovered…actually during this journey, however many years ago it was. He grunted as he lifted his hand to keep the body from slipping off his shoulder, feeling the blood trickling onto his outfit. His outfit had seen too many bloodstains, this was no different from the rest of them.

It was, deep inside. This was the blood of his first kill, the blood that changed his entire life – and here it was, dripping down onto the person it created. It was both purifying, like the waters of baptism – and corrupting, weeding its way into his form, turning him into the monster he had become. 

But it was over. He could see the sewage drain pipe in front of him, the water rushing through, getting rid of the waste from the city. A perfect place for a dead body. He managed to walk over to the railing, reaching up to slip the body from his shoulder.

Something was wrong. He pulled the body down, holding it in his arms for a moment – and he just saw himself. It wasn’t his best friend’s body any longer – it was his own. Just whom had he killed?

He let out a startled gasp, dropping the body into the sewer. But it didn’t hit water – the only sound that came up was the sickening sound of limp flesh hitting…flesh. He peered over the railing – and instead of the water that was coursing through the tunnel before, it was nothing more than a mound of bodies, following the tunnel through the twists and bends.

It was the bodies that he had dropped in there. All of the ones he did after his best friend, lying there in the sewer that he had left them in. He stumbled away from the railing, slamming against the tunnel wall with a wet sound.

The image flashed before him. For a moment, he could see the bodies shifting in front of him, as if they would come and pounce. Then it went back to the water rushing through the tunnel.

It wasn’t water.

With another look, he could tell that it was blood.

What was wrong with him?

The image flashed once more. He looked up – and he was looking into his own eyes. His eyes from however many years ago, staring at him with that blade in his hand. In that moment, he understood that glint in his eyes from before – it was a glint of fear.

He was afraid of what he had become.

His younger self progressed toward him, knife in hand – but he couldn’t move. Looking at his face now, he could tell – it must have been the face he gave his best friend before slitting his throat.

“I’m sorry!” Talon managed to rasp out, but his younger self looked like he didn’t hear it. “I’m…I’m so sorry…

“Kayvn…”

“ _He’s still dead. Your apologies do not bring him back. Nor any of the other lives you took._ ”

With that, his younger self slit the elder’s throat, the blood spraying onto his young form.

“ _In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit._ ”

He could feel the blood coursing out to the beat of his dying heart, darkness slowly overcoming him. 

“ _Amen._ ”

 _______

With a jolt, Talon awoke. His naked, toned body was covered with a thin sheen of sweat, breath rushing in and out of his lungs as if it were a luxury he could barely afford.

A dream. It was all a dream.

He could feel something at his side, however. He turned – in time to watch Darius’s large form slowly sitting up, watching him with…was that concern in his eyes?

“Talon…?” he murmured, propping himself up on the bed with a heavily muscled arm. “What’s wrong…?” He reached one hand over, to touch Talon’s shoulder.

Talon didn’t respond. His hand touched the bed stand next to him, and his fingers clasped around a familiar, metal object.

In seconds, the knife was up against Darius’s neck, threatening to slit his throat. 

“Don’t…don’t  _touch me_ ,” he hissed. It was enough to catch Darius off guard, and he reeled his hand back.

Slowly, Talon made his way out of the bed, working to make sure the knife was always pointed at Darius – he looked at him with naught but a pitying expression.

“Don’t come near me again, Darius,” Talon muttered, gathering his clothes and slipping into his pants. “I’ll slit your throat the next time you do.”

“No, no you won’t,” Darius murmured, as if he knew this ploy. He’d been on this ride before. But Talon ignored it, darting his hand out – and slicing Darius’s leg open slightly. 

“You have no idea what I will do,” Talon snapped. “You have no idea what I’ve done.” 

With that, he slipped from the bedroom, his exit marked by the loud footsteps along the floor. 

**Author's Note:**

> i was going off of the prompt "any league pairing of your choice. prompt would be emotional anguish and/or torture", and this is what came out.


End file.
